


Shrike and Thorn

by Feyland



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Depression, Homophobia, Implied Sexual Content, Kidnapping, Murder, Non-Binary Jean Prouvaire, Romance, Slurs, Violence, graveyards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 04:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16442678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feyland/pseuds/Feyland
Summary: A series of short fics for Jehanparnasse Week 2018





	1. Opposition - Gilded

**Author's Note:**

> Jehanparnasse Week - Day 1 - Opposition  
> (Cw: homophobic slurs, references to suicide, toxic parenting, alcohol, sexual themes)

It’s not as satisfying, Jehan decided, to end a call when you can’t slam the phone down. The restless energy that came with hot anger had nowhere to go, and Jehan tried to taper it in a long string of curses.

“Who was that?” said Montparnasse, making Jehan jump. They hadn’t heard him turn off the shower or make his way into the bedroom doorway, but his hair dripped onto the floor and he held the towel around his hips loosely as he looked at Jehan with poorly disguised worry.

“My father,” they bit out, and Montparnasse’s eyebrows raised at the harshness in their tone.

“What did that bastard want?”

“A favour. There’s apparently a gala happening with his company, and he’s after a promotion. He wants to show off what a great family man he is to impress the founders. He said as his son, I should be there to support him.” Jehan’s laugh was bitter and devoid of humour.

“I hope you told him to go fuck himself.”

“He tried to bribe me! He said he would put me back in his will if I would lie for a few hours. As if I want the money he stole from the desperate communities when he forced them out of their homes. I told him I would rather die, and he said he wouldn’t bother paying for my funeral when I eventually off myself because _‘Isn’t that what you faggots do?’_ ”

Montparnasse’s lip had curled into a snarl, and he reached out to take Jehan’s hand, holding it tightly. “I’ll fucking kill him,” he hissed, and he could feel in his chest how much he meant it.

Jehan’s expression softened, and they put their free hand on his cheek in gentle comfort. “He’s not worth the trouble,” they said. “It will be just as satisfying to watch him decay and die alone.”

“I could always just scare him a bit. Give him a heart attack.”

A small wicked smile found its way to Jehan’s lips. “Show up at his party as the heathen queers we are and let him die of embarrassment.”

Montparnasse smirked, leaning down to kiss Jehan. When he pulled back, he could see working its way through their brain.

 ***

  “Jean Prouvaire,” said Jehan to the attendant outside the hotel ballroom. “And my guest.” They smiled demurely as the young man quickly scanned the guest list in front of him.

“Of course, uh, Monsieur?”

“Thank you,” said Jehan, breezing past him without bothering with corrections. Though the attendant was not their target audience, and anyway, their goal for the night was to shock and confuse. Montparnasse slipped an arm around their waist as they made their way down the three steps onto the wide ballroom floor.

The room was a tired attempt at luxury, concrete pillars painted to look like marble, and the gold-coloured paint on the stair railings and chandeliers was peeling, worn down by time and countless wedding guests. Roughly 100 people filled the space, most of them men, and all dressed nearly identically in badly cut plain black suits. Several were paired with middle-aged women who wore variations of the same long, satin dress, none of them saying much as the men around them talked too loudly. They all looked the same to Montparnasse, who was struggling to keep his face cooly neutral, but Jehan seemed to immediately find who they were looking for. They pulled Montparnasse through the crowd towards a ground of five men, each holding a glass of wine.

“Papa,” they called out, loudly, and Montparnasse reaffirmed his grip on their hip as one man turned. He had some of Jehan’s features - a nose shape, a chin - and Montparnasse hated him for appropriating the features he loved so much. He was pale too, and grew even paler as he took in Jehan.

Their hair was loose and mussed, and as fiery as their eyes. The dress they wore was so tight it fit like a second skin. It certainly didn’t require the assistance of the tiny straps, but Jehan had let one fall off their shoulder. The neckline was low, easily displaying the dark hickies littering their neck and chest, disappearing beneath the deep red fabric. The hem barely covered their ass, holding it so tightly there was no mistaking the lack of underwear lines. The men around Jehan’s father gawked at the prominent bulge at the front of the dress.

“Papa, let me introduce you to my _lover_ , Montparnasse,” they said, drawing out the words. “Forgive us for being late. We got a bit...distracted in the cab.” As they spoke, the placed a hand on Montparnasse’s chest, subtlely moving his collar to display their own handiwork blooming on his skin. They ran the hand down the front of his torso, over the rich brocade of his suit jacket, stopping just at his belt buckle, which they stroked lightly.

Montparnasse’s shiver was not part of the act.

“Ah, M. Rielle, it’s good to see you again!” they continued, ignoring the various shocked looks around them. “I’m so glad you and my father seem to have gotten past that whole unfortunate business with your wife. And you must be M. LaPlante! My father has spoken so highly of the way you’ve avoided so many lawsuits over the years. He says your blackmailing techniques are second to none!”

M. Prouvaire’s face had gone from white to red with rage as his colleagues turned their gaze towards him, a cocktail of fury and fear burning in his eyes.

“You...!” he sputtered at Jehan, but didn’t manage to finish his thought as Jehan began to tug Montparnasse away.

“We’re going to get a drink,” they said. “We’ll talk later.”

They turned and walked away with Montparnasse in tow as voices raised behind them. Along one wall, a massive display of wine bottles weighed down a table, and Montparnasse snagged one, quickly uncorking it with the knife in his breast pocket. He offered it to Jehan first who took a huge swig.

“Let’s dance,” they said, wild wickedness playing over their features. They held the bottle in one hand, throwing the other over Montparnasse’s shoulder, and let him pull them out. He held them against him, running one hand up and down their back, the other holding firmly onto their ass. They moved their hips in time with the bland music playing out of a bad sound system, turning it into the most beautiful sounds Montparnasse had ever heard. They pressed closer to him, grinding up against him, sending more shivers down his spine as they let out a small gasp of their own. And so he returned the favour, pressing against their body, creating friction, and kissing the sigh off their lips. Their mouth was hot on his, messy and perfect, and he could feel their shudders matching his own. He pulled back, staring at their face, at the smudged lipstick and the wide pupils.

Jehan couldn’t see their father. Montparnasse didn’t bother looking at anyone else.

“Come on,” he breathed. “You don’t want to ruin your dress, do you?” He pulled Jehan towards the restroom, ready to take their debauched look to the extreme.

After all, their night had only just begun.


	2. Beauty - The Pale Horse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jehanparnasse Week Day 2 - Beauty
> 
> cw: major character death, references to bullets/guns
> 
> also, sorry.

Montparnasse’s eyes had gone wide when he had opened the Christmas present from Jehan a few months earlier. The Dolce and Gabbana blazer was printed with a cathedral design, gothic architecture swirling across the torso and sleeves.  
“I love it,” he had said softly, unbridled delight in his face. “I love you. Fuck, it’s beautiful. I want to be buried in this jacket.”

Jehan had not meant to buy the last clothes Montparnasse would ever wear. They had hoped that the gift would have been long out of style by the time Montparnasse was ready to be buried.

The sharp black fabric looked so stark against his skin.

Jehan’s head felt heavy, weighed down by tears. Their eyes were red from their week of sleeplessness, their hair unwashed and stringy. In contrast, Montparnasse looked pristine. The makeup the funeral parlour had used to cover his face was minimal, just enough to hide the early touch of death. Without eyeliner or lipstick, he looked younger. It was a face he didn’t let many see, but was painfully familiar to Jehan. The face they had watched so many times as he slept. Death didn’t resemble sleep on him, but Jehan pleaded to the universe anyway for him to open his eyes, to smile at them with a sleepy gaze, and pull them against him.  
The corpse didn’t move.  
Jehan was alone with him in the viewing room. Maybe others had arrived already to say their goodbyes, but no one had disturbed them yet. Jehan ran their hand over Montparnasse’s hair, over his cold cheek, down to his neck where they smoothed his collar. They wanted to touch the soft silk of the jacket too, but the thought of feeling the spot where a ball of lead had torn through Montparnasse’s chest made them sick. After all, it had buried itself in Jehan’s heart too.  
They shuddered, feeling sobs well up again, and they blinked hard, trying to chase away the traitorous tears that blurred their vision. They wanted their last image of him to be clear.  
  
He was so beautiful, and so still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last year I killed Jehan on Day 2 of Jehanparnasse week. It's only fair, really.


	3. Chiaroscuro - So I stayed in the darkness with you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jehanparnasse Week Day 3 - Chiaroscuro
> 
> cw: Depression

They hadn’t heard him enter the apartment - key or not, he still moved with the silence of a thief. It was only when the yellow light of the hallway fell across their bed in a strip that Jehan realized they were no longer alone. 

“Jehan?” said Montparnasse softly.

“Hi,” they said, and it came out in a muffled sob. Most of their head was under their pillow, cracked just enough for the breath coming hard and shuddering out of their lungs. An old quilt covered their legs, and they had pulled it up to their chest to clutch. The rest of their torso and arms were bare, and the dim light illuminated the curve of their pale waist and shoulder, the skin standing out white in the surrounding darkness. 

“Do you want to be alone?” Montparnasse asked. Many times, he had retreated at Jehan’s request when the dark embrace of their depression made no room for any other lover. Many times, he had sat on the hardwood floor outside their bedroom door, listening to the weeping he could not stopper. Too many times, there was nothing he could do..

“No.” The response was barely a whisper but it was all Montparnasse needed to shut the bedroom door and cross the room to them.

“Wait,” said Jehan. “Can you open the curtains?” 

Montparnasse did. The evening was still young, though January had dispelled the daylight several hours earlier. Still, the moon, nearly full, had made its way into the sky, if only to watch over Jehan. Silver-blue moonlight fell softly, parting the blackness of the room and softening the sharpness of Jehan’s form, still half-obscured.

Montparnasse watched their body as they let out a shaky sigh, and he moved to the bed, slipping off his shoes and jacket, making himself as soft as possibly as he folded himself around Jehan. They moved their head out from under the pillow as he began to stroke their hair gently, leaning into his touch. He brushed the tangled strands out of their face. The hair was damp with tears that did not stop even as Montparnasse held Jehan. He let them cry, and he didn’t say a word. 


	4. A Spring Upon Her Cable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jehanparnasse Week - Day 4 - AU

The captive had been quiet for a time. They were not gagged, but their hands were bound with rough rope, and they were watched closely by the ondeck crew, opulently armed with cutlasses and pistols. It was enough to make anyone silent with fear.

There wasn’t actually any fear in their eyes, though, observed Montparnasse, his annoyance tinged with respect as the creature calmly studied their surroundings. Their gaze fell on him, and when they saw him watching, incredibly, they offered him a bright smile. 

“Thank you for sparing my crew,” they said cheerfully, and Montparnasse furrowed his brow at their tone. “I would have hated seeing them hurt on my behalf.”

“They turned you over. Do they know nothing of loyalty?” he replied skeptically as he leaned against a crate.

“Oh yes, but I ordered them to stand down and let me go. Your only demand was me as a hostage. Why would I put anyone else at risk? Loyalty must go both ways, you know.”

“The words of a kind and just ruler,” Montparnasse sneered. “Tell me, princeling, what you think of your father’s loyalty? If his responsibility to you is anything like what he offers his people, I suppose we shouldn’t be expecting our ransom anytime soon.”

“You’re quite right,” the captive said, the strange lightness still dancing in their voice. “He is almost as terrible a father as he is a ruler. The only reason I was on that ship in the first place was because he was sending me off to school so that he needn’t bother with me anymore. I suspect he’ll take his time coming up with the ransom, though he will pay it in the end. He would really do anything to avoid open rebellion.”

Montparnasse glared at them. “This isn’t a holiday, little princeling. Returning you alive to your bastard king of a father doesn’t mean returning you intact.” 

“Oh, I am very much aware. I suppose I am just trying to enjoy what I can before you begin severing my fingers. You know, as a child, I always wanted to be a pirate.”

“Did you now,” said Montparnasse, fighting the smile that threatened his lips. “Don’t you know your kind is supposed to hate mine, your highness?”

The captive made a face. “Please, call me Jehan. If there was a place to do away with formalities, I hope it would be here.”

“Why would the child of a king dream of becoming a heartless cutthroat?” Montparnasse said, curious despite himself. “Isn’t the crown meant to uphold justice?”

Jehan snorted, their smiling mouth curling a little. “No one would call my father’s word justice,” they said. “The way he treats his people, his armies - I am not surprised so many members of the navy have taken to piracy. I suspect there is more honour among pirates.”

Montparnasse did not respond, but glanced over at his captain towards the bow of the  _ Minette _ . Babet had once captained a ship in service of the king. He didn’t talk much about how he had ‘lost’ his ship, as he put it, but his hatred towards the crown was a personal one. It was Babet who had recognized the origin of the ship Jehan had been on, as well as the princeling themself. 

“I’ve always loved the sea,” Jehan sighed. “I’ve never felt more free than when I’m at sea. Even with this.” They gestured with their bound hands.

Perhaps they were playing him, perhaps they planned to sweet-talk their way to shore before sending a fleet after the  _ Minette _ . But for the time being, the kidnapped princeling’s serenity was enough to spur Montparnasse forward. They didn’t flinch even as he pulled out his dagger and slashed through the rope that held them. 

“Come on, then,” he growled, though it came across as half-hearted even to his own ears. He offered his hand. “Let’s get you earning your keep. There’s a whole lot of ocean to cover.” 


	5. Back-Fence Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jehanparnasse Week - Day 5 - Rumour 
> 
> cw: sexual themes, mention of drugs

“People have been talking about you,” Jehan said casually as they passed the cigarette back to Montparnasse. They were skipping algebra again, choosing instead to meet Montparnasse at the the concret half-fence behind the school. They weren’t sure what class Montparnasse was missing. His attendance was sporadic at best, and he had often claimed Jehan was the only reason he hadn’t dropped out altogether. 18, and in the last few months of Terminale, Jehan sometimes felt as though they were holding their breath, watching the future loom.

Montparnasse was lounging in the sun like a cat, sitting on the ground with his back to the fence, explicitly aware of the way Jehan watched him. His lips parted in a soft O as he exhaled and then smiled. “I should hope so,” he said. “There’s not much else around here worth discussing.”  
  
“Someone was saying you’re the kingpin in an elaborate drug ring.”  
  
Montparnasse snorted. “Boring and uncreative, as always.”  
  
“Someone else argued that you’re actually a 30-year-old undercover narc, and that’s why you’re never in class.”  
  
“I’m offended. Who thinks I look 30? I’d rather die than get that old.”  
  
Jehan ignored that. “What I was most interested to hear were all the details on your sex life. Apparently you’ve been getting it on all over the school.”  
  
Montparnasse turned his head, matching the glint in their eye with his own smirk. “Really. I wonder which ones they got right.”  
  
“I heard the stairwell by the gym,” Jehan said as Montparnasse slowly reached out to run his hand over the back of their head and neck.   
  
“Bullshit. Too echoey.”  
  
“And dirty,” Jehan agreed with a sigh as Montparnasse brushed their hair away from their neck. “Leo Leblanc swore up and down you’ve fucked in the proviseur’s office.”  
  
“As if I would want any reason to think about that hag during sex,” scoffed Montparnasse, and he ducked his head to lay a kiss on Jehan’s neck. They tilted their head back and shivered.  
  
“It’s funny,” they mused. “No one ever seems to mention who you’re fucking. Maybe they’re all just fantasizing about being the co-star in these stories.”  
  
Montparnasse smiled against their throat. “Were there any more guesses?”  
  
“Mmm. No. Nobody thought of the auditorium wings.”  
  
“Dark and quiet,” Montparnasse breathed, his lips ghosting over a collarbone.   
  
“Or the study rooms off the library.” They shuddered as Montparnasse’s hand crept up under their shirt. “Or the -ohh- the little patch of greenery behind the school.”   
  
Montparnasse didn’t answer, his mouth occupied.   
  
Words quickly abandoned Jehan too.


	6. Collateral Damage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw - death, murder/manslaughter, bullets, guns, blood

“Swear to me! Look me in the eye and swear to me it wasn’t you!”

Montparnasse looked away, misery creasing his lovely face.

“ _How could you_ ? You promised me you never hurt innocent people. You said none of your _work_ hurts anyone that doesn’t deserve it.” Jehan rarely shouted, and every elevated word fell like a cannonball against Montparnasse’s chest. Electric energy pulsed through Jehan like a trapped storm, and their soft brown eyes were filled with fury and grief.

“It was an accident,” Montparnasse said wretchedly. He couldn’t bring himself to look them in the face, couldn’t bear the thought of finding hatred there.

Angry tears tracked their cheeks, and Jehan clenched their fists, their whole body shaking as they stood before Montparnasse in the front hallway of their apartment. Somewhere in the background, the fuzzy sounds of the radio droned on, as if the world hadn’t come to a sudden, violent end.

“They were just kids,” Jehan said, their voice breaking.

“They weren’t supposed to be there,” said Montparnasse to the floor. “No one was supposed to be there. We were just meant to meet the one guy. But he brought friends, and his friends brought guns, and those girls were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m sorry.”

“ _Sorry_ ,” Jehan bit out. “You’re apologizing to me? Apologize to their _mother_! You murdered her babies!” Jehan was growing more hysterical, sobbing through their accusations. “They got in your way and you killed them. You killed them!” Every one of Montparnasse’s senses screamed at him to comfort them, to end their pain in any way he could.

“I…” he tried, but he couldn’t finish. The image of the bodies of the two teenage girls lying on the dark street in pools of blood made him feel sick.

“Was it you?” Jehan said, their voice dropping to a cold hiss. “Was it your gun that killed them?”

Montparnasse at last looked up to meet their eyes. He found them naked, brimming with fear and ferocity. “I don’t know,” he told them, honestly. “We were ambushed. There were so many bullets, I was just trying to get away. I only heard one of them scream. I don’t know what my hand was doing. I don’t know, I don’t know I don’t k-” He broke off, shoulders shuddering as guilt and horror spilled through him. He leaned back hard against the wall, sliding down it until he could bring his knees up to his chest. Jehan didn’t move, and just watched him as he cried.

“How can I trust you again?” Fire and ice had left Jehan’s voice. It had morphed into something still. Tired. Or dead. Montparnasse just shook his head. _You can’t. You shouldn’t_.

“Get out,” said Jehan dully, and Montparnasse did, desperate to offer them any kind of peace.

The wretched night was cold, and it welcomed him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry?


	7. Dust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jehanparnasse Week - Day 7 - Rebirth
> 
> cw- cemeteries, graves, corpses, disturbing graves, Gothic themes

The grim artistry of the tombstones was even more beautiful at night. Jehan moved slowly among the markers, reading each name in silent acknowledgement. The moon was bright, lending its light and caressing the carvings around him. He traced with light fingers the outline of a dove carrying the departed soul to Heaven. He examined depictions of hands clasped in a final farewell, and scrolls of carefully carved scripture. He paused for a sober moment at the grave of a young child, marked by a stone lamb. Beside it, two intertwined rose buds marked her mother and brother’s fall to childbirth. 

The muffled thud from close by made him start, spinning on his heel to look for guards put out by his trespassing. He saw no lanterns bobbing, and footsteps did not  follow him. And yet, a low grunt and hard breathing found their muted way to his ear. Slowly, Jehan crept around a monument to some lord or another, and caught his breath. Only a few yards away, a dark shape was slowly but surely opening a grave. 

Jehan dared not breath as he watched the spectre work. A sheet had been laid out beside the unfortunate lot, and the newly loosened soil of a fresh burial piled easily at the temporary wooden cross that stood as marker. A thump indicated a change for the digger, and he threw up his shovel from his place in the pit. He disappeared again below the ground, and Jehan heard a number of hammer falls and the splintering of wood. He retreated into the shadows as the figure reemerged, casting quick eyes out over the still cemetery to ensure no one had heard his dark work. Sensing safety, he scrambled out of the pit, brushing at the gravedirt on his clothes, and reached for something. 

Despite himself, Jehan let out a stifled gasp as he caught sight of the long chain ending in a cruel-looking hook. The sound rang out like a bell in the silence, and the figure froze, the curved claw held fast in his grip.

“Who’s there?” he hissed, and one hand reached under the lapel of his jacket. Jehan could not see in detail what he retrieved, but the silhouette of the man’s arm suddenly ended in a point. The instinct to sink deeper into the shadows and flee overwhelmed Jehan, but curiosity had always proved to be his dangerous downfall. Hands raised before his chest, he stepped out from his hiding place. 

“You cry out and I’ll have you joining this fellow,” the spectre said, and took a step towards Jehan, knife raised. 

“Please, monsieur,” Jehan breathed. “Like your companion, I was unable to sleep. Restlessness led me here, not righteousness.” 

The shoulders of the stranger relaxed a little, though he did not lower his blade. “You’ve stumbled upon something too macabre for a bedtime story.”

“On the contrary, I am more intrigued than repulsed. I wonder, though, what this man has done to earn your ire.”

The man shifted his posture, idly running his hand over the chain. “In fact, he has done me a great service,” he said cautiously, and Jehan could see him mapping his face for intent. “He went so cleanly - all the better for my payday.”

“What is his purpose?” Jehan enquired, taking a step forward to peer into the grave, and the digger tensed again. 

“Don’t come any closer,” he growled, and Jehan paused, turning his attention to him. His face was half-hidden in shadow, but Jehan could make out skin as pale as a corpse, and dark, hooded eyes that revealed nothing. “Hospitals pay good coin for a fresh stiff. My friend here will save the world through medical study, or so they say.”

“Fascinating,” said Jehan, honestly, and the sharp pull of curiosity tugged at them. “Monsieur, may I watch your work? I can keep out an eye for anyone who would seek to stop you.”

The man paused, staring hard at Jehan. “Fine,” he said at last. “You may watch, but you will not share in my bounty.” 

“I would not dream of it,” said Jehan lightly as he perched on the base of the monument behind him. “In fact, I may be of service should you need to...dig up a doctor. I have friends who would not ask questions at my behest.” 

“A new client or two would not go amiss,” allowed the man as he returned to his task. 

“I am Jehan Prouvaire,” Jehan said as he watched.

“Montparnasse. My name and my home,” the man said, gesturing to their surroundings. 

“You do seem truly a creation of the cemetery,” Jehan observed. “It is a great honour to meet you.”

Moonlight caught Montparnasse’s smile. “The pleasure is mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap on Jehanparnasse Week 2018. I'm getting pumped for next year immediately. 
> 
> Come visit me at Feyland on tumblr


End file.
